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6:48 PM, Wednesday, March 12, 2008
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I’ve moved. Well, I’ve moved out, I just haven’t quite moved in.
After a few years of drifting aimlessly, staring out of windows at 1 in the morning, writing dodgy poetry and watching debts pile up, I decided to sell up down South and move back North and… er… well… find a life. You know, at 57, it sort of felt like time to do that… It’s taken 9 months and two aborted sales but I finally completed my house sale last week.
So – end of phase 1. What furniture I had after moving out of my second long-term relationship (and house) is now packed tightly in 3 crates in store (including the box with my mini-disk player, disks and favourite CDs that I carefully sorted out to keep me amused here – and then packed in the rush. Doh!) Now, as I type from a tiny room in a house share, (with a bathroom that’s smaller than a toilet on an aeroplane – I bent down to wash my face in the ‘basin’ and my bum opened the door…) it’s probably time to start on phase 2 and look to find that life. Nowt difficult in that, like - just find a job, somewhere to live, and a sexy loving partner - all 300 miles away. Shall I do it all next month, or take my time?
It’s an adventure, says my lovely friend in Morpeth (who has now just found the love of her life in a bloke called - it would be - Peter from Sunderland. Guess she’s off the Phase 2 short-list then…).
You’re doing something really positive now, says my ex-partner Sue, who I haven’t even seen for a beer in two years as she’s always far too busy. Oh aye…
You can pay us now then, say a long list of companies…
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